Goblin King
by KrysSaiyan
Summary: A Goblin King is king forever… but that’s not long at all. So, his time up, Jareth is reborn into a mortal body. The Goblin City in chaos for 20 years, its denizens decide to once again call their lord back home. Whether he wants to come or not.
1. Dead Man Walking

-1Chapter One: Prologue

"King of Goblins and Overseer of the Labyrinth, Jareth." a deep voice stated. Jareth himself stood in the center of the light room, looking attentive, but at ease with what was happening.

It wasn't every day one dies. But then again, it wasn't exactly a new experience for him. Decades after losing the mortal child, decades after her all too mortal death, the powers beyond him and his realm of lost dreams called, and, helpless to stop this tide, he answered and obeyed, and came to them.

His time as Goblin King, in this lifetime, was done.

He sighed, and wisps of golden hair swayed with the sudden breath and caressed his face and exposed neck. It was regrettable… he was unsure as to what his past lifetimes had accomplished with the realm of goblins and lost children, so had no means with which to measure his deeds against, but he felt a goodly amount of pride in what he had done thus far with it. When he had first entered the realm, it had been unruly and decadent, without a purpose, or rather, without a pattern to its purpose. How is one to know when to swap a little darling mortal babe for a changeling? Mortals themselves had still been something half-wild, nearly half-goblin, in his opinion, when he had come into rule. They had no idea how to call on something they only _felt_. It was a rather rough first few hundred years, he had to admit, but the human mortals had developed rather quickly, and understood his offers readily enough when such ideas were planted into their dreams, and like weeds in rich but otherwise barren soil, the ideas spread until, regrettably, they had sapped that rich soil and died slowly… the lush gardens he had created out of these mortals dreams, beautiful and deadly, had perhaps been _too_ beautiful. They required too much faith to sustain themselves, and now only the minds of few mortals were rich enough in dreams to sustain these wishes… regardless, he hoped, as he stood silently and gazed at the brightness surrounding him, that his new self would remember something of that and improve upon what he had already set in motion. It would do no good for the Goblin Realm to fall into disarray again, though he suspected it would anyway.

"Ready yourself, Goblin King."

He nodded briefly, closing his eyes. A small knot of apprehension made itself known in his gut, even as he tried to will it away. He knew this would not be the end of course… but still…

Not remembering any of this life? The fun he'd had, the women he's had? None of who he was now? The thought… He shuddered slightly. And then… there was still the matter of her. Even if she was gone, and had been gone. She had been interesting. He almost wished he could have toyed with her, just a bit more, just to see what she would have done. He did not fool himself into thinking he loved her. Love was not something he knew, though he had _heard_ of it.

No, the king of Goblins did not love.

But he did know amusement; he did know joy.

"Now, our lord."

He bowed his head, for one of the few times in his long, long life. And disappeared from all existence.


	2. Absolute Beginners

I had forgotten this beforehand, so instead I'll introduce my first fan fiction in over 2 years now. This, dear readers, is the result of my not wanting to finish my scholarship applications. Funny lil world, isn't it? I'm rather proud of this plot. Hell, I'm proud of my summary. But at any rate, an introduction.

This, is Goblin King. Its inspiration is the David Bowie music video for Underground. When you watch it enough times, a backstory seeps into your brain, and you're hooked. Look it up on YouTube. Anyway. I've taken my personal views on goblins, their king, and his personality, and sort of smushed them together into a palatable paste, and then smeared it on the page. Yes, yes, I did take liberties with David Bowie's beautiful eyes. It was actually a scuffle with a friend over a girl. But here, it just didn't fit the Goblin King. And I had to create some sort of clean break from family, so! Here it is. A break.

I'm reminded of something David Bowie said in an interview about Labyrinth, about Jareth in particular. He's a reluctant king. As if he's thinking to himself "Oh great, the goblins have stolen _another_ baby away from _another_ girl and now I must go and fix it."

The premise, of course, is that His Highness did not volunteer for the job.

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Chapter 2

If the powers that be had ever paid attention to where souls go after shedding their bodies and settling in newly formed ones, there would have been a hesitant "oops" in regards to the life essence of the Goblin King.

But as these powers cared little in affairs such as those, a mortal babe came into the Aboveground with a shrieking, almost inhuman cry, and bit the hands that pulled it from its dying mother, with toothless gums that inflicted no damage.

And the babe continued crying.

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It was one unfortunate event after another, the young man mused. He plucked idly at the grass he lay next to, and held the blades up to his face for inspection. The eyes that ran over them were bright and sharp like noonday sunlight, and one pupil was larger than the other, giving the impression of bi-tonal eyes, one darker than the other. When strangers gawked at this, he endured it with a sort of impatient grace.

Sighing and sitting up abruptly, he shook his head, dislodging stray blades of grass from the field of wild blonde hair on his head. It wasn't that he endured the stares of strangers… it was more that he was searching them as well. Looking for… _something_. He did not know what, exactly, but being a scant 8 years old, he figured he would know it when he did find it. It wasn't enough that children smaller than him toddled after him, tugging at his clothes and looking up with wide eyes, begging him to pay them any small attention… or that pregnant women paled when they saw him, and doting mothers reigned their children in when he was in proximity, a strange dread creeping into them and whispering with cruel faerie voices: _This is a stealer of babes._

No. He had his own problems to deal with. He had enough to distract him from the sense of unease he felt at his own surroundings.

You see, father had never forgiven him for taking mother away.

He couldn't say that his life was _bad_, because it wasn't, not really… he had food enough, and clothes enough, and there was that other thing… he brushed the thought off as he did the torn grass from his person as he stood. No use in thinking about the _other_ when he had to get going. It was getting dark.

He slipped into the quiet house and padded silently but gracefully to his room. He was not to be so lucky today…

"Damn unnatural brat," came a muttered, sullen voice from the kitchen. The boy kept walking, but his room was on the other side of the house, and he still heard what was said, the same as any other time.

"Not mine. Not _my_ spawn, no. And now she's dead, killed its own mother, how's that for innocence! She was… she was mine… you had no right to take her from me, you _goddamned freakish bastard_!"

He was forced to scurry as an object shot past his head and smashed into the wall. When he ducked into his room, he locked it, and stamped his foot angrily at the sting of fright in his childish eyes. He did _not_ cry. Not at that. He hadn't even gotten hit, that time. At remembering, his hand lifted to sparingly cover the one eye with the eternally larger pupil. He snapped it back at his side when he realized, and huffed in annoyance. He plopped down in front of his bookcase and grabbed his favorite, pouting as he opened its cover and then visibly relaxing as his two-colored eyes skimmed lovingly over the images within.

It was a book of faeries and goblins.

There was something in his child-mind that had stirred fitfully when he first saw the book, even though he generally preferred books with more substance over simple art books… but the illustrations detailed out in this never failed to soothe him, when he felt too fitful and restless to bear being there any longer.

His teachers loved him, of course, because as antisocial and stubborn and rebellious as he could be, he was absolutely _brilliant_, and because teachers have that old, romantic soul that recognized what kind of child he was. Old souls recognize each other, in a way. So, he was rather pampered by his teachers, and especially so when they had discovered him patiently showing a few younger children how to play a particular board game. Since that point, however begrudgingly, he had been called on by teachers of younger students to settle disputes between children over hurt feeling and stolen snacks, and asked beseechingly to look out for the more fragile ones.

Yawning to himself as he mused over the illustration of a particularly detailed and interesting goblin, he thought that he really didn't mind the latter of those duties. The small fragile ones he was sent to look after by the teachers… it seemed right. And besides, those little ones had this feeling about them… something he couldn't quite describe, but thrived on nonetheless. Being around them made him feel better. Like he could take what this stifling, dreary place had with grace, as long as he could still have these little fragile souls to look after.

Slowly, his blonde head was leaning towards the floor, the picture of the goblin in the book becoming blurry. He murmured in protest at his traitorous body, but it performed its mutiny regardless, and he was curled up in sleep on the floor within minutes.

So deeply was he asleep that he did not even stir when the sound of skittering, pattering little feet rustled through the room.

A giggle.

"His Highness is adorable as a wee babe!"

A hissing, whispered sound.

"Shut up! You'll wake him!"

"Sorry…"

"Idiot."

A collection of three smallish goblins stood in his room, and fairly stared in adoration at his sleeping form, before one of them came to its senses and, poking the other two with chubby fingers, padded quietly over to the bed and, with help from the other two, managed to drag both blanket and pillow from it to their sleeping Prince, and they somehow managed to place the pillow beneath his slumbering head and drape the blanket over his still form, and they stood for another long moment, watching him with wide eyes that glittered in the low light, and wringing their stubby hands.

"I wish…"

"You know that don't do you no good."

"Oh, let him be. It don't do no harm neither."

"I wish we's…. we's could do sumfin' more His Highness dan just dis…"

The other two fell silent at the smaller one's comment. After a moment, the oldest of them shook his scraggly head.

"Nay," he whispered still. "We have to wait. He's still too young to be King, just yet. Alls we can do is wait, and make sure His Royal Highness don't get hisself hurt too bad."

The other two pouted, and glanced once more at their tiny master with a mixture of adoration, hope, and hunger on their small wrinkled faces, before crawling back through the portal.

His Royal Highness, at that moment, stirred and whimpered in his sleep, a small hand coming out of the blanket on top of him and curling in the direction of the open portal. The oldest goblin smiled sadly at this and clicked his tongue a little. _Our poor lost lonely prince,_ he thought, before he too climbed through the portal and it shut behind him.

The boy on the floor cried out quietly in his sleep, a small sound of despair, before the depths of total slumber ensnared him in its embrace again.


	3. Time Will Crawl

I want to thank my two reviewers! Thanks all around and whatnot.

Now… to warn you guys, the plot I have for this story is rather… sketchy. Regardless, I shall try to pop out good chapters on a regular basis.

This is turning out a good deal darker and creepier than I had intended. The goblins weren't supposed to turn out as… menacing as they seem when I write them. But I've always been fascinated by the darker side of fairy tales, and I suppose that it's leaked into my writing. Then again, I always write in a vaguely creepy, dark fashion, so really it was bound to happen anyway.

The fourth chapter is being worked on, so it should come out sometime relatively soon. Maybe in a few days.

As always, please review!

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Chapter 3

"Hey! Jared!"

A man with golden hair and lean features turned toward the voice that called him, and paused on the street as the caller jogged up to him.

The boy with mismatched eyes had grown up, and was twenty years old. And the stigma that followed him as a child and _still_ made small children worship him and pregnant women and mothers mistrust him was still present. It still made him irritable and dangerous and oh-so _mysterious_.

Of course, the upside was that, as he grew older, it drew lovely ladies to him like honey draws ants.

Currently, his partner in crime as it were, was grinning at him like a fool and with a gleam in his eye that made the mortal boy Jared smirk and show teeth, a habit his companions called a smile but he insisted was actually far from anything like a smile.

After all, a mouse does not look at a cat's teeth and see an expression of innocent mirth residing there.

Nevertheless, the gleam had to be dealt with.

"What did you do and how much money will it cost me to bail your ass out." he said lowly. His companion laughed and grinned wider.

"No man," he replied. "It's a gig. You'll like it. A club scene, but real classy like you like 'em. Trust me man. Be there at 7 sharp, got it? All you gotta bring is that purty voice of yours and we're set. You get half like always." At that, he slapped a note into Jared's hands. Jared glanced at it and saw the address and name of the place scrawled onto the paper. He nodded once, and the other man was off.

Probably to tune his instruments, Jared thought, and continued on his way to the grocer's. Living by himself in an apartment, he had to make a living. And, on a whim, he had taken up a microphone. According to the people who heard him, his singing was no less than divine. If divinity was a wild thing, just barely contained. It was quite possible, he mused again. He had trouble hearing himself sing. He had once recorded it and played it back later, but had to shut it off halfway through the song.

It had reminded him of something caged, and he hated it.

But, still, you did what you had to, to get by and fill your belly, so he had no real complaints. He had been getting restless for awhile now. Maybe, after tonight, he would pack up and leave again. Find someplace else. He steadfastly ignored the sinking feeling that there was no place on earth he would ever be content in, and quickened his pace.

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He nearly groaned aloud at the place as he stepped into it. Classy? No wonder the other places had seemed so rank and… dare he say it, filthy. If this was what his guitarist had deemed classy, he might as well give up all hope on ever seeing anything above the dives and smoky bars he had thus far been… "introduced" to. He swallowed a scathing remark, having learned long ago that it did him no good to voice these thoughts, and stepped onto the low stage. This was less than a bar or a dive, he marked. It was nearly naught but a poorly constructed basement where people gathered to listen to musicians and dance. His breath condensed into clouds in front of him and he stepped up to the microphone.

He opened his mouth, and by the third note the audience was entranced, as always. His body swayed slightly in time with the beat, but he had never been much of a dancer. Singing suited him much better, he thought.

Song after song was played, and his smooth deep voice lulled and excited the "patrons" of the establishment, until it was very late into the night, and the loosely formed band packed it in, and Jared left, much to the disappointment of the audience.

Especially the ladies, he thought with a smirk as he stepped out into the street and made his way back to the apartment, a rather decent amount of money jammed into the inside pocket of the coat he wore. He preferred keeping bills in his wallet, but walking alone at night, if mugged it was better to toss an empty wallet than one full of your earnings for the day.

He was beat, entirely so. He still managed to walk a straight line, and he retained a pretty clear view of his surroundings. He thought so, anyway, until he spotted a patch of fungus growing on the side of one of the old brick buildings.

The fungus had eyes that followed him.

He jerked back and shook his head, deciding he really should get home, and quickly. If he was that tired to be seeing things, he didn't want to know what else would pop up before he could lose himself in sleep in the relative safety of his own apartment.

He walked faster, still trying to seem as if he weren't in a rush, and was fishing the keys to his door out of a pocket when he saw it.

A short, furred, pointed thing with large yellow eyes was staring at him. Peeking from around the corner of the building even.

It didn't move. He didn't move. They stared for a long moment before he slammed the correct key into the door, twisted it open viciously, rushed in, and slammed it behind him, locking and dead-bolting it before moving swiftly to windows and making sure those were locked and curtains drawn as well.

He fell into a chair in the kitchen, glass of cold water in hand, and he downed it in one go. His heart was hammering away in his ribcage, and he wasn't sure if it was fear or... something else. He shook his head roughly and refilled his glass, sipping slowly this time and trying to collect his thoughts. He was tired. The thing reminded him of the creatures in his old childhood book.

Goblins.

He did groan aloud at that, and set the empty glass in the sink, resolving to sleep like the dead for at least ten hours. When he woke up, it would be daylight. He would be well-rested. He'd think of where to go after this shoddy city, pool his money together, and leave. Everything, he resolved, would look better with sleep.

So he yawned widely, not bothering to cover it since no one was present, and crawled into his bed, only removing his coat and shoes before passing out entirely, and indeed sleeping like the dead.

Multiple pairs of mischievous, glittering eyes gathered around the windows to sneak a peek between the curtain, the giggling and then sudden hushed arguments as they jostled for a better view disturbing the dreams of other tenants nearby.

As for the mortal man they spied on… he did not dream.

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He yawned widely and stretched in his bed, clothes wrinkled and in need of washing, with his eyes still closed.

The childish giggling made them snap open very quickly.

But just as he had heard it, it was gone, and he wrote it off as a child playing outside the window. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his feet over the side of the bed in one smooth gesture, and he sat there with his head in his hands for a few moments, allowing himself the time to get adjusted to the bright morning light. But as he sat there, and thought about which of the few children the apartment complex housed that could have been playing outside his window, it occurred to him that the sound had not come from that direction.

It had come from inside the house.

He looked up blearily from his hands and saw the room empty. He thought for a moment more, confirmed to himself that he may indeed be losing his mind, and went about business as usual.

Standing from his bed and walking into the kitchen, he stopped suddenly.

There, at the table, was breakfast. And not any simple milk-cereal-and-toast breakfast either. No, this was a full blown meal, with cut fruit, eggs and bacon, and some kind of hot pastry that looked like it could be related to waffles or pancakes, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. Glancing at the fruit again, he could pick out a couple that weren't entirely familiar to him as well. Though, strangely enough, he could recall a sort of phantom taste when looking at them, the way one might recall the taste of baby food even if they're a fully grown adult and haven't partaken of it since infancy.

But what was most unsettling were the dishes the meal was served in. Ornate, crystal dishes that caught the light and splashed it in rainbows everywhere, and a metal goblet filled with a red wine, when he sniffed it hesitantly.

He narrowed his eyes at all of this. One of his associates playing a trick on him. Or, maybe some strange psychotic delusional girl had gotten a copy of his key, let herself in, and was now playing housewife.

Maybe ninja assassins had been sent to poison him with delicious foreign food- he didn't know. He cast a suspicious glare over the room, and stalked out of it, still silent, but with an aura of impending doom thrusting out ahead of him and making even the little spiders that hadn't yet retreated at the coming of dawn, retreat and stay in their hidden webs.

"Th-the food is not te His Majesty's liking?" a timid, small voice piped from the hallway. He whirled, staring hard and eyes wide.

Oh, that confirmed it, he thought. He was going completely _mad_.

A short creature was peeking from around a corner, eyes wide and worried. It was (she, his mind automatically filled in) perhaps the scariest thing he had seen in his scant twenty years. A huge bilious nose, brown wrinkled and wart-freckled skin, maybe two feet tall…

There had to be something deeply, seriously wrong with him.

He bolted for the door, not _afraid_, but startled beyond bearing. He needed to get out and get some air. Check into a mental hospital perhaps.

But as he unlocked the door and flung it open, a mass of the things poured in on him, clambering and raising a huge fuss, clinging to his legs like children and all the while chattering on and on, "Your Highness! Your Highness!" "Wes so glad you're back!" "Your Majesty! Look what I caught!" and he could only watch helplessly as a few live chickens were loosed into his otherwise tidy apartment, and the first little goblin (he cursed himself, associating them with childhood fantasies so quickly and almost without thinking about it) shrilled loudly in protest as she insisted the King had to eat a proper meal first off, and shouldn't be bothered with such nonsense as they were carrying on with. He stared numbly as various manners of the little goblins inspected every inch of his apartment, finding comment in everything and getting into biting and pinching fits when they disagreed over the way something worked, or whether it was good enough for His Majesty to even have or not.

He staggered backwards, half from shock and half from the force of them pressing against him, and he collapsed heavily into an armchair, a few of them still hugging his legs and chattering their praise "Oh His Highness looks so handsome now!" "Handsome! Oh, kingly indeed!" until his head fairly throbbed and he felt his wearied patience snap.

"_SILENCE!_"

And to his mild surprise, they obeyed instantly, all turning curious, dull eyes toward him and remaining absolutely silent. He felt a kind of chill rise up his spine at the familiarity of this, and was about to rise up off the chair and kick a few of them aside to reach the door again, when a tiny goblin rushed forward eagerly, knocking over a few of its fellows in the process, and skidded to a halt in front of him, looking up with large hopeful eyes.

"It was me, Your Highness!" it squeaked, nearly jumping up and down in delight. "That… that ball when Your Highness was a wee lad, I put it there I did!" and it quivered in excitement.

He blinked, trying to sort out what the little thing was blabbering about. A ball? What…

Oh.

"You mean," he started slowly, and a few goblins gasped and tittered excitedly, hearing his voice after so long, and not raised in a yelled command, "that rather gnawed wood and leather thing?" He vaguely recalled having discovered the saliva-covered "ball" placed lovingly next to his head when he woke on his birthday many years before, along with various other…. _unique_ items, spanning throughout the years of his young life.

It was then he also recalled that today happened to be his birthday as well. He closed his eyes ad rubbed his temples with both hands.

"What do you want," he said in a monotone, tired voice. The goblins glanced at each other uncertainly. One of the medium sized ones stepped forward warily and began speaking, glancing at the other goblins for reassurance.

"Well…. Your Highness…" it started, until a hard glance from him spurred it into quicker speech. "Ya see, you're… you're old enough now to take the throne again, so we've come to collect, in a manner of speaking."

He ground his teeth together in frustration.

"Explain."

The goblin whimpered, looking as if it expected a solid kick, but continued speaking.

"Your… Your Highness is the Goblin King," and here it glanced warily again at its fellows before swallowing heavily and continuing. "Jareth."

He had to clench his fists to keep from bolting out of the chair at that very instant and throttling something. Likely one of the creatures in front of him. They were mocking him. They were mocking his name, and they were mocking the ill-content childhood he had, the times when he had occupied his idle mind with fantasies of controlling a horde of goblins. Usually though, these fantasies ended with his father suffering a rather painful injury to the eyes, and later it had expanded to include beautiful women draped across his lap while he lounged in his throne.

Regardless of the content, these stupid little creatures were mocking him with their honesty, and he hated them for it. It made him feel ill.

"Find some other person to drive insane." he said with what he hoped was finality. He ignored the feeling in the back of his mind that was deathly afraid of losing these creatures, losing something that felt so right, so familiar in an achingly alien world. It needn't have feared that at all.

"We're sorry, Your Highness," another goblin said, indeed appearing very sorry with its eyes downcast, but not sorry enough, as when it looked up again, its eyes were glittering with hunger and joy.

"You don't have a choice in the matter, my lord."


	4. Little Wonder

I'm sorry everyone. I got very busy, packing for college and having to cram everything together, and I had to do those scholarship applications…. I'm sure that a reader's worst nightmare is an author who's also a student. I'll try harder!

Thank you again for the lovely reviews. They sustain me. X3

Now, a couple things about this chapter. One: Jareth is left handed. It's not much, but I wanted to explain that little bit. It wasn't that important, but I recalled how in "the old days" being left handed meant you were a little… off. Or you were closer to the devil or something. It depended on what era you were living in, I suppose. At any rate, Jareth's dominant hand is his left. Two: The throne room scene was difficult. I wasn't quite sure what to do. And also, Jareth needed some alone time to sort everything out in his head. You can't do that with eager-to-please goblins swarming around you, chattering and gnawing on things that ought not to be gnawed on. It's all very chaotic. At any rate, Jareth, now that he's "returned" so to speak, has in his possession all of his powers. He just doesn't know how to use them with any degree of reliability. If he wants a drink, he has to think of it as a drink in a _cup_, or else the liquid will just spill everywhere. Magic is fickle.

Now, I can't promise speedy updates, but I shall try, if only to keep my story near the top of the page. It's going to be a bit hectic these next few weeks, but don't fret. I always finish my things.

Also, as far as chapter titles go... I'm naming them after songs on the Best Of Bowie DVD. I try to keep them relevant, but... sometimes I'll probably just like the song.

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Chapter 4

They moved forward as one bumbling mass, and apologized in quiet murmurs that were drowned out by his angry yelling. A few of them sustained serious bruises as their would-be king flailed violently to get them off of his limbs, to get away. But even so, they persisted, apologizing to their beloved lord and master, as they grabbed hold of first his legs, and then many tiny hands caught him as he tripped and fell, and more small, gnarled hands restrained his arms, and lifted him off the ground so that he rested on top of the goblins holding him up, despite his screaming and ranting for them to halt immediately and despite his useless thrashing about. The ones not occupied with carrying him toward the door wrung their hands and squeaked their deepest apologies to him, wincing at every order he bellowed angrily that they simply could not allow to be carried out.

The Goblin City waited beyond the door. And it desperately needed its King. Even if its King was ignorant of it and angry and bitter at them, even if he kicked them around for years afterward- they could not let him remain from his throne any longer.

His struggles against his subjects halted abruptly when the goblins pushed open the door and it opened to reveal the corridor of a stone castle. Even restrained by goblins, his throat hoarse from demanding to be let go, he quieted suddenly at the rush of feeling that slammed into him, emanating from that portal doorway. He stared at it even as the goblins walked carefully forward, making sure to not drop their ruler. The walls of stone on the other side were damp, dripping, and plant life grew on it. He shuddered slightly as he recognized the many-eyed fungus he had seen the night before.

As the goblins shuffled through the doorway and his body slipped through the veil between the worlds, he shuddered and cried out quietly, involuntarily. It felt as if his heart would burst, as if every nerve in his body were electrified and ultra-sensitive. His mouth and eyes opened wide, his back arched and the goblins beneath him yelped as they tried to keep hold of him and keep him from falling to the ground before they could get him to his throne.

They could not think ahead, or about "maybes", but they knew instinctually when mortals would make a break for freedom. They were unwilling to risk losing their king, mortal though he may be, and so kept a firm grip and trudged forward with him on their backs.

He, meanwhile, was shuddering slightly and breathing harder than normal, his eyes darting to every little crack in the wet stone, trying to absorb it all.

And was it in his imagination, or did that breeze actually caress his face?

The goblins exited the corridor, and he had to squint his eyes against the harsh light. When he adjusted, he felt another little shudder go through him, and a twinge of pain accompanied it.

The rest of the castle was in ruins.

Parts of it had collapsed, and the parts that remained standing were decaying and overgrown with plants. Curious goblin heads peeked out from behind various piles of rubble, and when they saw him, they squealed and ran, scampering over the ruins and inevitably causing more rocks to tumble from their places in the walls.

Goblins did not know anything, he thought blearily. The pulse he felt from first entering the realm had left him feeling weak, yet invigorated. Every breath of air he took into his lungs felt as if it might kill him, but left his blood pounding.

"Heres, _heres_, you stupids!" one of the goblins hissed and smacked another goblin carrying him in the head. They muttered, but turned and entered another room, this one in slightly better shape than the other parts of the ruined castle. A goblin that looked like it might have a beak for a mouth skittered forward and peered at his face.

"Wes been keeping the throne room nice fer Your Majesty!" it said excitedly, and as he looked around the room (what little he could see, being carried on his back and having a rather nice view of the ceiling where various molds grew) he could see that indeed, most of the walls were intact, and there was little fungi or plant life on the bottom half of the wall. He made a sound of acknowledgment to the goblin, who proceeded to look as if he might weep with joy.

"Now put me down," he ordered. He had figured out that the goblins were loathe to disobey him, save for the carting him out of his apartment, out of his _life_, but he was going to try again. His heart jumped as the goblin glanced around and wrung its hands.

"Well, Yer Majesty…" it started, and glanced over to the side before continuing. "We… why don't wes let ye have a sit down fer awhile, Yer Highness!" and here the goblins carrying him moved forward again, and he cursed loudly. The goblins laughed, much to his fury.

He threw his head back and saw it. It was upside down in his vision, and it wasn't decorated in jewels or any ornate carvings. But he knew what it was and he felt his stomach flip as he approached it.

"What are you-" he started.

"No no, sire, it'll be alright."

And the goblins hoisted and pulled him onto the throne, which had been kept as clean as possible under the care of unsupervised goblins. At touching it, he thought he really was going to die. He convulsed and nearly gagged. It felt like every cell in his body was on fire, and he screamed. This in turn caused the goblins to scream themselves, and flee the room, leaving him there, thrown sideways on the throne, back arched and mouth and eyes wide in shock and pain.

After a few seconds, the pain shut off suddenly, and his body went limp, limbs sprawled out over the throne. His world went dark immediately after.

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Jareth groaned and shifted, prying his eyes open slowly. He turned his head, wincing as the muscles in his neck screamed in protest. The room was empty. Slowly, he moved into a sitting position and massaged sore, stiff muscles with one hand. What had happened?…

Oh, yes. Goblins.

He looked down and saw the throne he was still on. He sighed and stretched, leaning back into it, with arms flung carelessly above his head.

A Goblin King, hm?

There were worse things, he supposed.

He opened his mouth to yell for the little bastards that abandoned him there after ripping his old life away from him, but choked as his throat made clear, in no uncertain terms, that there would be absolutely no more yelling.

He groaned again and put one arm over his eyes in a dramatic gesture of "woe is me". He wanted nothing more than a large mug of hot chocolate. Or cider, maybe. Tea. _Anything_, so long as it was hot and so long as it soothed his angry throat. Was that so much to ask for? After all this, was it so much?

He blinked at the feeling of something smooth and warm resting in his free hand. Lifting the other arm off his eyes, he tilted his head to look at his hand.

In it, rested a perfectly clear, perfectly smooth and round crystal. Feeling something tighten in his gut, a feeling he was coming to associate with anything about this ruined place, he brought it up to his face and gazed into it.

It showed nothing.

With a growl of frustration, he threw it, and it shattered against a wall. He flung himself back against the throne, like a petulant child or a frustrated infant who can't get the circle block to fit in the square hole, and very nearly pouted.

When he heard the sound of liquid dripping, the near-pout vanished and he sat up suddenly, alert. There, directly in front of him, was a spilled cup of dark liquid- it smelled like spiced tea, he thought- laying on the floor, the liquid splashed against the wall where he had thrown the crystal and dripping down onto the floor where it pooled.

He paused, blinked, and looked at his hands.

"What…" he whispered to the room. He narrowed his eyes and focused on his left hand. 'I want some coffee,' he thought loudly. And predictably, another crystal appeared in his hand. He grinned triumphantly and poked the crystal with his free hand, popping it.

Dark espresso splashed out of his hand and soaked his pant legs.

He cursed as loudly as his abused throat would allow, and stood up from his throne, shaking coffee off of his hand.

"This is ridiculous," he growled to the air. The magic, for that's what it _had_ to be, seemed determined to work against him.

This wasn't what he had in mind all those years ago, as a bored lonely boy. The goblins weren't worshipping him, cleaning up the sticky liquid that was now all over his throne room floor, there wasn't any beautiful women to lavish him with praise and drape themselves across his lap, and his castle was in absolute ruins.

This was not what he had wanted at all.


	5. Miracle Goodnight

Chapter 5

Jareth ground his teeth in frustrated silence. He had a splitting headache, night had fallen and he was cold, and this entire situation was spiraling out of his control.

And the goblins were back, of course.

If there was one thing the man who was Goblin King hated, it was not being in control. In his life, there had been nothing he couldn't do, with little effort if any was required, which in itself was rare. If he had randomly decided one day he wanted to stop singing and become a business man, a CEO, he had no doubt he could have, and with relative ease. He had the charm, the looks, the cunning, the intelligence, the patience… whatever he had done, he had been the best at. The top, the pinnacle, the epitome. Emperor of his own destiny.

Watching the goblins scramble around and guzzle ale and play ball and shoot at chickens, and above all else, _chatter_… it was as if a hundred tiny fairy-sized hammers were hitting his head, with varying intensity depending on the sheer volume of the goblin mass.

He breathed in and out, clenched his fist.

The goblins were a mess, that much was certain. Left to their own devices, he had no doubt that this was all they ever did. They certainly never seemed to tire of it (he resisted the urge to grind his teeth again). They had let the castle- _his_ castle, he thought abruptly, as it was his now- degrade to where it was barely recognizable as a building. It looked like piles of rubble in many places. It was a miracle the throne room was still mostly intact, but he figured they must have had enough brains left to consider that their king would be very angry at them if they had not picked up at least _one_ duty in his absence.

He sighed, and then ignored the squeaking goblins who had gathered around him and asked if His Majesty was feeling well. There were… _things_ on the edge of his consciousness, and they bothered him. He tried to chase down an errant thought and it slipped from him like a seal slipping into the water when he approached. He wished he were a shark instead of stuck on land.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when a wailing goblin threw itself onto his shoes and clutched pathetically at the hem of his pants. Startled, he twitched backward slightly and his eyes got wide with confusion and concern.

"K-k-_king_!" the little thing spluttered between sobs and gasps for air, looking up at his face with large eyes that were pouring tears. Jareth tried to not look disgusted at the sheer amount of mucus leaking out of the goblins face and onto his shoes.

"H-he _stole_ my thingy!" the goblin continued, pointing an accusing finger at a goblin across the room, who had frozen in horror, his eyes wide and a slingshot hastily hidden behind his back. Other goblins had seen and heard the commotion. The ones who weren't too drunken to speak either went to scold the goblin thief or berate the one at Jareth's feet for disturbing His Majesty with such an insignificant matter.

The little goblin at his feet only whimpered and pouted and trembled at their pulling on his clothes, trying to tear him from Jareth, and yet the tiny thing held onto one of his feet with such force Jareth almost felt insulted.

He was also surprised it could find a grip- he was certain it was covered in drool and runny-nose fluids after that outburst.

"Oh for the love of…" he started, his voice getting louder in order to reach over the clamoring goblin hisses and squeaks. "All of you shut up _this very instant_! And you, I order you to get _off_ my person before I _kick_ you off, you miserable sop." The goblins obeyed, though the goblin on his foot whimpered a little at letting go. It stood shakily and fidgeted with its small, wet now, hands and hung its head like a child being caught at pulling all of the flowers out of the garden. Out of the corner of his eye, Jareth saw movement. It was the goblin who had the slingshot, trying to slip out of the room unnoticed.

"And _you_," he growled, and the goblin appeared to pale considerably; it was hard to tell given the condition of their skin; "You will return the_… borrowed_, property back to its rightful owner and never again take from others, understood?"

There was a long pause while all the goblins stared at hi. Some looked like they were trying very hard to understand what he had just said, as evidenced by their scrunched up faces. But the vast majority simply stared blankly and nodded in an absent manner. He could have sword he saw one goblin in his peripheral vision smile stupidly and begin drooling from the overheating of its brain.

He closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and took a full deep breath.

"Give it back to him and don't do it again." he grumbled, trying very hard to not moan in exasperation- he figured that wouldn't be very kingly after all.

They cheered up after that, pleased with themselves for having understood what He meant, and resumed their chattering and cavorting around. The thief goblin hunched his shoulders and stalked over to the slingshot's owner and reluctantly handed it over. The owner blew a raspberry at him and then threw himself at Jareth's feet again, only this time thanking him profusely for being such a _kind, generous_ king who took such good care of his unworthy subjects. Jareth resisted the urge to kick at the little thing and settled for just shooing him away. After he had scurried off, Jareth put his head in his hands and tried to will his headache away.

One of the smarter, older goblins took notice and came slowly up to the king.

"Your Majesty?…" she ventured quietly. She jumped slightly when he turned his head from his hands just enough to look at her with his one strange icy eye.

"You…" she continued hesitantly, averting her eyes. "You are not feeling well sire?"

He blinked in surprise and lifted his head a little. This was the first time he could recall that one of them had not addressed him with an honorary. She had tacked one onto the end, yes, but there it was. 'You'.

_What an odd little goblin,_ he thought, bypassing the attached thought that they were _all_ odd anyway- they were goblins for pity's sake. He frowned.

"Where am I to sleep?" he asked after a short pause. Her eyes widened and she inwardly cursed herself. They had all taken care to keep the throne room in as much order as possible, but they hadn't even thought about the care of their King after he arrived…

She fidgeted and squirmed and 'hmm'ed until he felt it grate against his weary patience again, and he tapped his foot unconsciously. A few of the goblins nearby scooted further away from him. Even if he didn't know he was doing it, the automatic gesture was something they recognized all too well.

They were about to incur the Goblin King's wrath.

"Fine," he snapped, standing up abruptly. She cringed backwards. "I'll find a place to sleep on my own."

He snarled at the surge of goblin voices that pleaded he stay, stay with them, and they'd even be quiet, if he just wouldn't leave. He ended it by explicitly ordering all of them to not follow him or stop him from leaving the room. They wailed in protest, but obeyed just the same, and he strode out of the room with large angry steps.

-------------------------------

"Ridiculous creatures," he snarled under his breath, stalking over the ruined remains of the castle, kicking at stray stones.

"This place is _insane_," he added, and a crystal formed in his hand without his consent. In a fury, he threw it, not caring if it contained food or a soft bed or even a woman. He was sick of this.

It cracked against the hard stone and shattered. A short-lived blaze sprang from it and flared brilliantly before it consumed itself and died.

He stared at the spot where it had been, the after-image burned into both retinas. After a minute, he hissed in pure frustration and collapsed onto the ground in a highly undignified manner, clutching at his unruly blonde hair. He felt like a petulant child in the grocery who wanted a candy bar but their parent refused, so they let their little legs go limp and they sulk and cry and beat their fists on the floor. He ground his teeth together again and squeezed his eyes shut.

This was all ridiculous. Him, the ruler of a kingdom of wild creatures who behaved like toddlers without discipline? With a start, he wondered if he was expected to train them or keep them reigned in. Was _he_ supposed to parent that chattering filthy mass? It was stupid. Not hours before he had been no one. He had been That Man, the one whose voice did so many things to different people. It gained the attention of even the most bratty screaming child, fascinated babies, terrified mothers, and depending on what he wanted at the moment, either crooned people into a trance-like state or into a frenzied wild mob. He had been _special_, he knew that much. He was arrogant enough to notice it and take advantage of it.

But now, he was expected to be… someone important. A ruler. A king. Not a rogue, or a loner, or that dark handsome mysterious bad boy that drew eyes towards him like magnets. He was used to being the odd one.

He started laughing when he realized he didn't know the first thing about being in charge of anything but himself. He kept laughing when thought of what a screw up whoever had decided to put _him_ in charge of anything bigger than a body and an apartment had made.

He kept hearing himself say he didn't belong here. He wasn't supposed to be doing this. It was a mistake.

But then he shuddered and had the thought that is anything tried to drag him away from this absolutely insane hellhole, he would kill them before they got him anywhere near the Aboveground.

He stalled momentarily ("Aboveground?") but then his thoughts resumed chasing themselves in circles and he felt like he was going insane. This was too much. This was way too much for him to adjust to. Not yet.

He distantly felt a night wind blow past him and stroke his skin, but he was too wrapped up in the tornado in his mind to pay it any attention.

He tried to focus, feeling giddy and exhausted simultaneously, and forced himself to concentrate.

_"I need to sleep. I need something- anything- comfortable and safe to sleep on. A mattress. Just give me anything, magic…_ _I can't think straight, the stupid goblins haven't fed me, I just need somewhere to rest, please…"_

The crystal formed in his slightly trembling hand and he tossed it gently. He felt as if he were playing roulette. He never knew what to expect from this power. He had tried earlier, playing with them, but when he tried to entertain the goblins by appearing a chicken, it turned out to be cooked and filled with stuffing. It had lasted maybe 3 seconds after the ravenous little things descended onto it. It felt like being an awkward teenager again, stumbling over his own limbs.

A proper bed, with sheets and blankets appeared, and he nearly wept with relief. Finally, finally. He crawled carefully into it and peered underneath the sheets to encounter a small plate of biscuits. He very nearly lost control and wept openly, but as it was his eyes only misted over as he ate the plateful and laid his head on the pillow. Normally he wouldn't eat in bed- he hated the crumbs, and it invited bugs. But at this point he really didn't care at all. Utterly exhausted, he fell asleep, part of a biscuit still hanging out of his mouth as his eyes closed and he slipped into slumber.

He slipped into a dream.

----------------------------

_"Well well, " someone said. He turned sluggishly, but there was only darkness around him and the owner of the voice couldn't be found. _

_"What's going on?" he demanded, and the voice laughed loudly and confidently. _

_"What a poor little mortal, to have never dreamt before." it replied smoothly. With sudden dismay, he realized it was his own voice. But he had never sounded like that. This voice was loud and it knew everything about itself. His laughter had never been like that. What was going on? He could feel the voice grin, and he shuddered when he considered that it probably possessed pointed sharp teeth._

_"Oh, come come Goblin King!" it admonished playfully. "Are you really so frightened?"_

_He took grave offense to this and bristled. _

_"Show yourself then!" he demanded, and thought he sounded imperious indeed, even though his own voice sounded flat and dead in this place. A figure became clear, separated from the darkness like yolk from egg white through a sieve. Jareth was frozen in place. The other figure looked vaguely like him. The hair was styled in a different way, but still the same wild blonde. And the eyes were unmistakable. The most remarkable difference was the _feeling_. This figure that looked nearly identical to him carried this aura of… royalty, if he had to define it. _

_But he desperately wanted to back away from this approaching twin. There was something in the eyes. The mismatched eyes that marked him. They were wrong. Reversed. It was like a mirror that acted independently. And those eyes were raking over him, something visibly sparking in them._

_They wanted to consume him._

_"I question whether or not you're fit to be king, you know…" the darker twin drawled casually. "You're far too hesitant. You have too many scars." And here, the dark twin frowned as if sincerely troubled. "And if that wasn't enough," he continued. "You're entirely too concerned with mortal plights. I don't think you could take a babe if it were _handed_ to you."_

_"Just what the hell are you talking about!" Jareth finally snapped, too disoriented and alarmed to stay calm. _

_This was all wrong._

_The other one smirked winningly and Jareth dazedly thought that he couldn't understand why women loved that same self-assured smirk on his own face. It made him feel as if he were about to become a cat's plaything until it got bored with his suffering and killed and ate him. The feeling increased ten-fold when the other one leaned in close, close enough to nearly touch noses, and stared into his eyes._

_"You. I don't think I like you. You're despairingly weak, you know. And not all that clever…" and he leaned back, looking contemplative. "No, no… and even though you want desperately to be in your rightful place, you continue to deny it. You let the realm remain in chaos." He looked condemningly down his nose at Jareth, though they were the same height. _

_"Why, you're nothing but a frightened little mortal boy thrust onto an immortal throne, aren't you? How disappointing."_

The dream faded as sunlight stabbed through his eyelids. He sat up, covered in sheen of sweat and muscles tense.

There was something horribly wrong here.

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What a time for an update… at the end, as suggested. At any rate, this chapter was difficult, mainly because I don't know what I'm doing. I love flying blind.

I apologize for the delay in the chapter, as well as how abysmally short it is. I'm horrible. But it's also 6:30 a.m. and I have yet to sleep. Mmm. Watch me not care and go and get breakfast. Falling asleep during the day is the best.

I've forgotten to mention this, but if one wants to be kept up to date on my chapter progress, my LJ account is my homepage in my profile; I try and keep that updated with my thoughts about the fic and my progress on it. Unfortunately, it also contains might-be spoilers. My blogs are always a sort of exercise in stream of consciousness writing. Not entirely sure why. I just happen to like it. It's like meditation I guess.

Anyway, I want to thank all my wonderful reviewers, as well as the people watching this story! I love the attention. Makes me feel special inside.

Thoughts on this chapter… ooh. It's difficult. One of my favorite themes for writing is duality. I dealt with it in an earlier fic where I paired a "Saint and Sinner" type of theme and kept it going with religious motifs and similes…I was rather proud of it. At any rate, Jareth is chock full of duality. His eyes, for one. And then his generosity and cruelty. But they pair, don't they? Even his cruelty is generous, and even his damaged eye is still an eye. It matches and meshes! Beautiful.

Miracle Goodnight… I love the music video for this, but unfortunately I've only been able to find it on my DVD. It's nowhere on the internet! Sad. The video has some duality in it as well- mirrors, and one of his costumes. Black and white, and mirrors! It really is nice.

I also chose that title because of his question about where he sleeps. Miracle Goodnight! It's ridiculously lame, but hey. I take what I can get.

Did I mention I _love_ duality concepts?


End file.
